


I'll Be There For You

by telemachus



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Bestest Friends, Gen, Love Lost - Freeform, Sailing To Valinor, and no more, elves & their weird combing ways, look telemachus can desert my otp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-01
Updated: 2014-07-01
Packaged: 2018-02-07 01:34:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1880004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/telemachus/pseuds/telemachus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Legolas & Gimli have been friends all the years since the Ring War. Now Aragorn is dead, Legolas wishes to sail West at last - but he doesn't want to go alone.  What use is Valinor if the one you need is not there?</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll Be There For You

**Author's Note:**

> Someone very dear to me does not ship Legolas & Gimli. Like, ever. At all. So this was for him, because he reads my others (usually) & I wanted to prove I could write a world where they were just very good friends.

“Elessar is dead,” I say, “there is nothing now to keep us here, mellon-nin.” And he looks at me with the impatience he always shows when I state the obvious.

“Here in Minas Tirith? No. I had supposed not,” he sighs, and I see he does not relish the thought of a journey home by horse or foot.

“Come with me,” I say, impulsively, “I – I am released from my promise now. I shall sail West at last. Come with me.”

He looks taken aback, as well he may. I have thought of this before, though I had thought to prepare my words better – these last ten years I have thought of this, before that I could never have suggested it. I do not know how I could have said this better, and that is why I never have. But – the thought of leaving him behind – no. I do not think I could. Yet – to stay and watch him die – no. Not another death. I will not be left behind again.

I was only stopped from fading before by my Ada’s love, my promise to Elessar, and, above all, his friendship – though he knew not why I valued his company so.

“Why not?” I continue, “Mellon-nin, your wife is dead now, your daughter rules your caves in all but name – you know this. Travel with me, one more time. You will see – wonders,” I smile, “Trees. Such as you will not see on Arda. Rocks too, I daresay. Old friends.” He is wavering, I know it. “Come. My father would welcome you to whatever court he keeps there. The Lady will be there – you would see her again.” I pause, before playing my final card, “You would not let this elf go alone, telling all that you did not dare?”

I have him. He grins, and for a little while my old adversary is back.

 

 

Our boat is an Elvish one. It needs little steering, it finds its way over the sea as though it too is called West. He uses the time to question me,

“I hadn’t realised so many of your elves had gone,” he says, and I shrug.

“Our time is over. Imladris, Lorien fade – this you know. Ithilien was only ever a help to the Men of Gondor. We never meant it to last. Even the wood I was born in – it has faded since Ada left. He was the last King – there will be no other. Only some Silvans, dawdling behind, perhaps to stay forever and dwindle. But no Silvan can rule – they have not that – blood.” I look ahead, where a slight line shows dark on the horizon, I will not let myself think of one Silvan who ruled me. “But glad will I be to see my Naneth, my brothers again – and for you to meet them. It is long since my Ada sent them all to safety, keeping only warriors and those without children at his court as the Shadow grew.” I have no fear he will be unwelcome. A surprising friendship grew between Ada and he – I think based on shared concern for me, and then cemented by trade. Dwarves are trading people, I have found. I smile at another thought, “My brothers’ wives and children also. And, I daresay, more elflings by now.” It is long since there were elflings born in Arda. My words have given him the opening he has been looking for, it seems,

“What of you, Legolas,” he asks, as he has never asked before, “will you find a wife there?”

“No,” I sigh, “that is not for me. I – there was one. But – I was slow – and foolish – and – my love feared to hurry me. We – finally – we spoke of – of love – we exchanged combs – in Imladris. Those last days before the Quest set out. But – my love was a hunter, a fighter in times of need, as all my people are. And – and when I came home to my Forest – my love waited there no more.”

I look at him, seeing him begin to remake those months in sight of this,

“Yes. That is why Ada was so grateful for your friendship. That and my promise to Elessar kept me from fading. I – I hope that one day – one day – we will be together again. But it is as the Valar will.” 

One hundred years is not long. I cannot expect my love to stand on the shores of Valinor to greet me. Ten times this may pass before I hear that voice again.

“I am sorry,” he says, “I did not know. I – you were very kind when my Brorild died. I never thought. Why did you not say?”

I shrug, “There never seemed a good moment.”

We are silent. I know not what he is thinking – of his grief, I suppose, those wild nights when he would drink and talk and cry and rail against Mahal for his lost love, until dawn. And then pass out.

I envied him that sometimes. As I suppose he would envy – were he to think – the hours I can spend in reverie. Walking again those pine slopes of Imladris with my love, combing that flame-red hair, feeling the touch of hands on ears. So short a time we had, so long we had wasted, as elves do, thinking we have forever. So long I was too nervous, could not believe the love I saw in those steady eyes. So long my love thought of me as an elfling, when I waited only for the reassurance my devotion was returned. More than returned. And when at last – at last – we did – it was only because my love feared what would become of me on that Quest. But it was not I who fell. You taught me well, you gave me skill, but what became of yours when it was most needed? 

As if I do not know. Always you were at the front, always the captain, always risk-taking. Never would you have let me act so, yet – did you not see – that doing as you did – you tore my heart from me? And again, I wonder, why did we part? At such a time, why did I not insist on your company? Or let another elf go in my place that I might stay with you?

Was I truly so proud as to think I could offer something no other could to that Quest?

He is looking away, out to Sea, as he speaks, and I recognise in his gruffness the reluctance to show emotion that is so much a part of him,

“So – all the time you have watched Elessar and I – and those halflings – marry, and have the joys of fatherhood – all this time – you have been thinking – if only. It seems I have misjudged elves. You can stay silent. You have borne that well,” he hesitates, and then, touching on the subject we avoid so often, “but you have forever. When your lady returns to you – will you have elflings then?”

Now it is my turn to hesitate. I do not know – I am not sure how this will be received. But I – even if I wanted to I have never been a good liar. In truth, I am not sure how he has not heard this before – I did not set out to conceal. That he has not – I fear it is an indication of how strange this will be to him. Dwarves I think are not – ever – made so.

“No,” I say, “no. No elflings. My love – was no fair elf-maid. I – truly Gimli, do you not remember the Silvans at the Council?”

He looks at me in surprise,

“Aye, I do. But they were all warriors, were they not? Your lady was one of those?”

Oh the blindness of dwarves. Even this one. My most dear friend. Perhaps it is better.

“Yes. My love was one of those.” I say, and leave him to understand, or not.

 

 

Our boat draws into shore, and I alight, pulling it, though it needs little urging, up the beach until he can easily step to land.

Slowly we make our way from the beach into the green land of this country. I know – I do not know how – but – I know which way to go, where my family will be. We do not hurry – my dear friend cannot – and I – what need have I to hurry?

My love will not yet be there.

The days pass in journeying, slow, for we must go at his pace. There is no running now for my dear friend. Yet – to be together, to talk, to laugh, to exchange stories – it is worth much. There is no shocking revelation, no change between us – this is not a tale, this is how things are. We have known each other long – most of his life – I have known him as I never knew another mortal. I have watched him court and wed his wife, I stood as groomsman beside him, and knew him more nervous than in any battle. I saw his children – not born, dwarves are much more secret than elves – but – soon after. I held them, played with them, sang to them, taught them to ride. They are the best riders I have ever seen among his folk. And when they were grown, I saw them marry or become skilled at their craft. One I taught to shoot, and oh my friend was furious that day. No dwarf should have a bow as her first weapon, he said. And it was I who reminded him of his cousin, that archer who entranced my dear captain for those weeks. 

I saw his grandchildren. Watched them grow too. Watched him grow old, and yet be still my dearest friend. Grateful I was to his wife, that she never minded, that she seemed to welcome me, that she understood I wanted nothing that was hers. Just that – sometimes – to have a home to go to where I was not the prince, was very welcome.

Without his friendship, I say again, I think I would have faded all those years ago. And that would not only have hurt Ada, but failed in my promise to Elessar. 

Besides, my love would have been furious with me for such weakness.

I suppose it is odd we never spoke of my love before. I had not the words. The grief, for me, was always too near. Perhaps I should have spoken of my joy when first we were friends, that I had one to whom I longed to return – he was quick enough to tell me of the dwarrow-maid he hoped to court, she who became his wife. But, for all his jests, for all I am an elf, the words were never ready to my tongue. 

I think I feared to share my joy lest some bitterness mar it. 

How I came to wish I had. For then I could have shared my sorrow and perhaps found comfort in speaking of my love. But hard it was to speak to Ada of love found, love vowed, love lost all in one moment – to say it to a friend – this friend of whose understanding I was not certain – that I had not courage enough to do.

It is twilight of the tenth day when we come upon a Woodland Feast – as I remember them in childhood – before the Shadow came. Ada is unchanged – no. Not unchanged. Ada, Naneth, my three brothers – all look – better. Shining. Happy. As elves are meant to be. It is not long before I am surrounded by a crowd of my relatives, Silvans also, all greeting me, touching ears with me. For a moment, my friend is left to stand silent, alone, but then I see Ada speak words of welcome to him, and introduce him to Naneth.

She will honour him for the friendship he gave me, I know, and also – she will not wish to be outdone in courtesy by the Lady of Lorien, anymore than Ada wished it said that he did not offer as kind a welcome as Lord Celeborn. But even as I am thinking this, my brothers pull me away from the Silvans. They look at each other and I see they are up to something.

“Pen-neth, do you not want to come and – “Thirthurun starts,

“- and see the flet that is ready for you?” Thorodwar finishes. And I am suspicious.

“A flet?” I ask, “Ready? But – how could you know when I would come?”

They look at me. Older brothers to a foolish elfling once more. Oh. I suppose it is not that long since Ada came. He knew my plans.

“Just come,” Thalion says, but when I turn to call my friend, “No. Just you.”

And now I am very suspicious – but my friend looks happy enough for now, perhaps it is best to get this joke over with.

I follow them to – indeed – a flet. Or, the ladder.

“Up you go,” Thirthurun and Thorodwar say – and I recognise the smirk. I look at them and sigh,

“I am no more inclined to let you find me a wife here than I was in the Forest – “ I begin.

They shake their heads at me, so earnestly I could laugh, did I not have an ache in me for my lost love.

“Go,” Thalion commands, and gives me a push. I sigh, and pitying the poor girl I will find trapped up there, hoping they have not again stolen her clothing, I go.

I land on the platform, courteous words of apology ready,

“Indeed, I am sorry for whatever my brothers have done – “ but my voice dies in my throat.

It cannot be.

The eyes look at me, smiling, loyal as ever, the hair is tossed in the motion I have dreamed of as the head tilts to look at me,

“You’re late. You look terrible,” there is a smile, and, “my sweet prince, it is a good thing I have your comb.”

And then I am in his arms, and his hands are on my ears as I touch his, and over and over I say his name.

“ – I have your comb – but – how came you here? How did you persuade Mandos to release you so soon?”

He smiles,

“You needed me. I knew you would – I would not fail in service to my king or love to my prince. So I came. I am Caradhil. This I can do.”

**Author's Note:**

> Pen-neth - young one.
> 
>  
> 
> Thalion, Thorodwar & Thirthurun are my names for Legolas' three elder brothers. In my usual headcanon Thalion died at Dagorlad, and the other two, though close, are not very good brothers. And Thranduil's wife left very soon post-Legolas' birth. This kind of was - what if he survived & they were a (normally) happy family? how different would my Legolas be & what changes would that make?
> 
> I think I have said before, I can't imagine my Gimli ever, ever doing the unrequited love thing. He would have found someone.
> 
> Caradhil is my own invention, a Mirkwood Silvan, Legolas' second in command in Ithilien. He appears in a lot of my stories, especially his own tale 'Red Star Rising'.


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